


Guess Who

by gimmefire



Category: Green Day, The Network
Genre: M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-24
Updated: 2006-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place January 17th 2006 at the première for Live Freaky! Die Freaky!, at the Steve Allen Theatre in LA…so, Billie never showed up, huh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who

"Billie? Billie, the fuck are ya?" Tim called out into the microphone, shielding his eyes against the stage lights. He squinted out into the assembled audience, calling his friend's name into the mic again. Seeing no frantic movement and hearing nothing but the quiet murmur of conversation, Tim looked down to Lars a few feet from the stage.

"Lars, you got your cell? Give the boy a call, find out where he is."

Lars jerked his head in response, digging out his cellphone and scrolling through for Billie's number.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" Tim replied distractedly, still peering out into the darkness of the Steve Allen Theatre. No, nothing but faces that weren't Billie's looking back at him from their seats.

"Can I have my mic back?"

"Oh!" Tim exclaimed, turning back to John, who stood waiting patiently to continue his talk. Well, after all, it _was_ his film premiere. "Shit, sorry man, I…fuckit…"

Tim dissolved into giggles as he pushed his hat down lower over his face, which was rapidly colouring in embarrassment, stepping down from the mic. He clapped John on the back as he clambered down from the stage, scuttling back to his seat with his bandmate. John grinned and shook his head, stepping back up to the mic to bubbles of laughter from the audience.

"Goddammit, I make _one_ little offhand comment about how I haven't seen Billie Joe here yet, and laughing boy here fuckin' climbs up here and starts yellin' like it's a rescue mission," he complained, still grinning. The ripples of laughter increased as he put a hand on his hip, cocking his head to one side and adopting a lisp.

"It's always gotta be about you, hasn't it? Fuckin' bitch. I'll put you over my knee," he mock-threatened, shaking a finger in Tim's direction. He covered the mic slightly and murmured into it sideways. "I think Timmy's missing his boyfrieeend…Tim and Billie, sittin' in a tree…"

Stopping only when ice cubes began bouncing onto the stage from Rancid's direction, John giggled and pushed his reddish-black hair out of black-lined eyes. He raised his crumpled piece of white paper again, glanced over it briefly, and gestured at the screen behind him, onto which bright blue old horror movie-style letters were shone, spelling out the title of his labour of love: LIVE FREAKY! DIE FREAKY!

"Ok, no, in all seriousness, this film…this night is all about fucking ME and…anyone that says different should be dragged out into the street and shot. I thank you. Enjoy and be horrified by the show."

He gave a few brief bows before picking up the mic stand and scampering offstage himself. As the applause died down, he made his way down the aisle to his seat. Smoothing out his snappy suit jacket and settling back, the lettering projection was shut off and the screening began.

After a couple of minutes, he looked over towards the Rancid section (ha ha), seeing Lars slid down in his seat and comfortably paying attention to the movie. Evidently he'd stopped trying Billie. John chewed at his lip a little, turning around and peering down the aisle to see if there was a Billie shuffling down as quiet as possible, hissing his apologies to all and sundry. No such luck.

Really, the director couldn't help but feel a little put out. No call? No remorseful message on his answering machine? Not even a crappy little five word text message - 'Can't make it, sorry, Billie'? Nothing? What the fuck? Bastard had probably forgotten all about it.

John huffed quietly and slid down in his seat, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Actually, it seemed he was a lot put out.

He continued to watch the movie for a little while longer, more looking around at the audience's reactions to everything than paying attention to something he'd seen a frillion times already. As Hadie began her deranged, wide-eyed story, John sloped up from his seat and scuffed quickly to the back of the theatre. That way he could watch the whole audience with ease - and brood quietly without any concerned words from others. Good good.

As he settled, elbows leaning on the dark varnished surface of the low wall that separated the seats from the walkway, he had obviously failed to notice the figure against the rear wall, a shadow among shadows. A figure that watched him intently with liquid, black-swathed hazel eyes.

The figure smiled.

John rested his chin in his hands, pouting slightly, eyes going out of focus as his mind drifted from reality.

Suddenly, he became aware of the barest, softest breath of a noise behind him, before a fingerless-gloved hand came and clasped over his crotch. The director choked on a gasp as the hand squeezed. A glistening red arm wrapped around his waist, and he was pulled backwards into a small, lithe body.

It took a good few blinks and a silky-smooth voice reaching his ears to convince him that he wasn't just daydreaming.

"Guess who?"

Once he'd actually focussed on the voice, the arm, the hand…he wasn't really so bothered at being molested.

John let out a throaty chuckle.

"How many guesses do I get, and do you squeeze like that every time I get it wrong?"

His chuckle was echoed, higher pitched and more musical. The other hand fisted into his jacket and twisted him around, an act he gave no fight against. Seconds later, he was sat on the worn red carpet, back to the low wall, a creature made of early-morning mist and late-night fantasy astride of his lap and arching smoothly down on him.

"You dressed up for me?" the fire-licked beast purred softly, fingertips tracing John's jaw line.

John quirked an eyebrow.

"I dressed up for my _movie_ ," he corrected.

" _I_ dressed up for your cock inside me."

Deft fingers spidered down to lift the black-suited man's shirt, to make short work of the button and zip of his pants. John could only smirk at all this, eyes swirling dark and dilated, fixed on the striped mask that did little to hide his assailant's identity. The creature worked with ravenous speed, white teeth flashing in the darkness like some sex-addled Cheshire Cat. John's hips bucked as black-lacquered nails grazed over his skin, lubricant produced from _somewhere_ being slicked onto him, and he stifled a grunt.

"H-here?" he hissed.

A wicked smile unfurled from black lips. The masked forehead bent to press against the director's.

"Guess we're just going to have to restrain ourselves and be silent, aren't we?" the animal murmured, trailing a finger over John's lips to illustrate it's point. John grinned, more than accepting of this challenge, eagerly watching milky white, tattooed hips appear as the creature pushed down it's skintight red pants.

Charlie's grand entrance could be heard on the screen, but such grand things were all but lost on John, until the red devil bent over him once again. Full black lips brushed thin pink ones as an immortal, blashpemous line was uttered with an identical growl by the wild-haired puppet onscreen and the ethereal beast before him now.

"Have you ever made love to the son of God?"

John choked back several moans as this 'son of God', this demon, twisted around in his lap, smooth, bare ass hovering and begging for desecration.

"Fuck me, Svengali." the creature breathed.

The words had barely left those black lips before John guided that ass down and impaled it. If the sensation hadn't destroyed his ability to think, he would have laughed quietly that the devil had _already_ prepared himself sufficiently.

Electricity seemed to shoot up the beast's spine, making it's whole body crack like a whip and it's head loll backwards, mesmerised by the sensation for a moment. Then it went to work, undulating like a snake in water, sending John's mind in a million different directions. This sinful, dangerous act was reflected onscreen, Charlie and Hadie marking their first meeting with the most gloriously debauched and perverted collection of sex acts. The laughter and grossed out groans of the audience provided a bizarre backdrop of sound to the two encounters. John's hands gripped tight at the creature's thin hips, aiding it's already astounding efforts, his own head pressing back hard against the wall and lined eyes slipping shut. The feeling of his heavy cock sliding past that tight, clenched little hole and in and out of such addictive, quivering heat - the very _thought_ of it, even - was enough to force John to bite his lip fucking hard to keep from moaning long and loud. Enough for him to feel his orgasm rising inside him already. He cracked open his eyes to see the demon's head still rolled back, painted eyes closed, black lips parted, mouth wide and wanton.

Minutes passed. Minutes of silent, beautiful sin.

John swallowed his cry as he came, spilling himself into the beast, which continued to rock and ripple it's body with otherworldly grace. Only when the creature's back stiffened and the softest few yelped moans passed it's lips did the movement stop. It sagged against John, breathing deep and utterly sated. Almost.

It turned its head, dilated eyes heavy-lidded and warm, and drew it's fingers into John's hair, tilting his head back and claiming a deep, slow, hot kiss. As it broke away, it gave a shuddering pant against the director's mouth.

"Outstanding…"

A few more moments of exhausted peace, and the red suited being slid to it's feet, sliding up it's pants and preening itself to perfection again. John remained where he was, gazing up at the beast. He smirked lazily.

"Why thank you."

The demon brushed itself down, licking it's lips.

"I was talking about me."

John chuckled as it bowed, before slipping back into the shadows. He closed his eyes and let his energy drain slowly back in. He heard the squeak of a door as the 'mysterious' being left.

 _Nope_ , he thought, wiping at the black smudge of lipstick on his lips. _Not put out anymore_.


End file.
